A Year In The Life Of The Artful Dodger And Co
by Two-Bits
Summary: SLASH and het A year revolving around The Artful Dodger and her friends. Thank you, Jacky Higgins for BETA-ing!
1. Happy New Year!

January 1, New Year's Day

"Come on, Dodger! The ball is about to drop!" Les exclaimed, excitedly. Smiling, The Artful Dodger, rightfully named Aimee Kingery, picked up her mug of hot chocolate, and curled up on the couch, snuggled in between her two step-brothers, Davvy, who was the same age as her, and Les, who was seven years younger. Her mother had married Davvy and Les's father last June and Dodger and her mom had moved in in August. Davvy and Les had an older sister, Sarah, but she was very popular at school, and therefore had been invited to a party thrown by her boyfriend, and the quarterback of the football team, Jack Kelly, or Cowboy, for those who were on less friendly terms.

The five of them sat on the couch, watching the TV intently as the large glittering ball slowly made its way down in Times Square, counting off, loudly, "Ten...nine...eight..." until...

"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!" Almost immediately, the phone rang, and Dodger grabbed it.

"Hello?"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR, DODGY!" Dodger jumped and held the phone a foot away from her ear, until Dutchy stopped yelling.

"Don't. Call. Me. Dodgy," she said, sternly. Then she broke into a grin. "Happy New Year, Dutchy. Is Specs over?"

"Yeah. His parents are on a cruise."

"Figures," she said with an eye roll. "Lemme talk to him."

"Hey, Dodgy."

"Okay, the Dodgy thing has GOT to stop! Happy New Year, Specs! So, what have you been up to?" she asked, coyly, a smirk in her voice.

"We've been drinking hot chocolate and eating those massive marshmallows!" Specs answered, not catching her drift. Specs and Dutchy were in denial.

"Hot chocolate, huh? With whipped cream?" Dodger said, her grin getting wider. The rest of the family was occupied, but Davvy was "Hot chocolate, huh? With whipped cream?" Dodger said, her grin getting wider. The rest of the family was occupied, but Davvy was watching her, a smile creeping across his face.

"...Yes..."

"HAH! I KNEW IT!" she shrieked in jubilation, leaping onto the counter, swinging her legs, triumphantly. Davvy stood up, his curiosity getting the better of him. He hurried over to Dodger and pressed his ear against the phone, trying desperately to hear.

"What? Knew what?" Specs demanded. Davvy snickered.

"Specsy, could you be any more oblivious? Did you eat strawberries, too?"

"Yes...How did you—"

"Never mind that. Okay, Specs listen to me. Listen very closely," she said, slowly, as if speaking to someone who had the mind capacity of a two-year-old. "You are alone in a big house with Dutchy."

"Yeah...?"

"You have strawberries."

"Yeah...?"

"And whipped cream."

"Dodger, what are you getting—oh. Oh! You think that—Whoa! Hold up! No, no, no, no, no! It's not like _that!_" Specs exclaimed, and, though Dodger couldn't see (for which Specs was very thankful), he was blushing, furiously.

"Yeah, uh huh," she said, obviously unconvinced. "Well, anyways, the cookies are beeping at me, so I'll see you later. You two have fun! Oh, and Specs? Keep it PG," Dodger said, smirking. Before Specs could say anything, she hung up.

"Well?" Davvy demanded. She sighed and shook her head.

"Denial." Rolling his eyes, Davvy and Dodger raced upstairs to get the cookies.

January 1, New Year's Day

Specs set the receiver down, staring at it. He turned away from it, and left the room, heading into the kitchen, where Dutchy was. Dutchy sat on the counter, Indian-style, sucking, subconsciously on two fingers. He looked up and smiled.

"Had a nice chat with Dodger?"

"Um...yeah," Specs muttered. He reddened, further, when he realized that Dutchy was holding a can of whipped cream, and was proceeding to fill his open mouth with the white fluff. Specs's stomach did a flip. "Let's, uh, watch a movie, or something," Specs said, desperate for a distraction.

"Sure. What d'you wanna watch?" he said, leading Specs into the living room. Specs collapsed on the sofa, then shrugged.

"I dunno. Don't really care. Just pick whatever you want," Specs said. Dutchy began perusing his collection of DVD's.

"How 'bout...a musical! This one is my sister's favorite. She says it's really good." Specs nodded, and Dutchy put it in. He sat down on the couch next to Specs, and they began to watch a musical called CAMP.

It took a moment before they realized that Michael was gay. Once Specs realized this, he turned beet red. Dutchy noticed this, and gave him a funny look, his head cocked to one side.

"Specs, are you okay? You're flushed!"

"I'm...just...uh...warm, I guess," Specs muttered. Dutchy tugged at the jacket wrapped around Specs's shoulders, and pulled it off, leaving Specs in a thin tee shirt. He pressed a hand to Specs's forehead and whistled.

"You're burning up! I'll go get a thermometer, and turn the heat down," he said, pausing the movie and jumping up.

Specs sat in silence, his legs tucked up under him, staring at the frozen screen of the TV. He rocked back and forth, slightly, shaking. What was wrong with him? He'd been best friends with Dutchy since he was in the first grade, sitting on the playground.

Specs wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, drawing away sweat. He quickly realized this wasn't just emotion.

"Here, open your mouth," Dutchy ordered, coming back in, a thermometer in hand. Specs obliged, and Dutchy stuck the glass tube underneath his tongue before tapping his chin up.

A few moments' silence, and then Dutchy took it out again. He yelped. "Geeziz, Specs! You're at 100.2! Oh, god. I'll be right back!" He jumped up and rushed into the kitchen. He came back with some medicine. "This stuff is supposedly fever reducing."

"What's the matter with me, Dutchy?" Specs asked, sounding worried. Dutchy shrugged.

"You've got a fever, that's all." He cocked his head to one side. "Haven't you ever had a fever before?" Specs shook his head. "Oh, great. Okay, when are your parents getting back?"

"Not for another week." Dutchy whistled.

"Great. And mom's in Quebec until the fourth. Lovely. Okay, well, looks like Dutchy's playing doctor for a while."

"Should I be worried?" Specs asked, his voice wavering slightly. Dutchy smiled, then pushed back the brown hair that was sticking to Specs's sweaty forehead. He shivered, and began blushing.

"Naw, Specs. It'll go away. In the meantime, we have to keep you cool." He leaned over Specs and grabbed the phone.

Specs's breath caught in his throat. He stared at Dutchy, who was mere inches away from him, and began blushing. Dutchy grinned, sheepishly, drawing back and punching in numbers.

"I don't exactly have a PhD. I'm gonna call Racetrack. See if he can tell me what to do. His sister's a nurse, you know?"

"Who, Lea?"

"No. Claire. She just graduated from medical school."

January 1, New Year's Day

_Ring...Ring...Rin-_

"Hello?" Racetrack said, sleepily. It was two o'clock in the morning, and Racetrack had a nine-hour sleep policy.

"Hi, Race. It's Dutchy." He sounded nervous. "Listen, Specs is over at my house. He's got a fever. 100.2. My mom is out of town until Wednesday, so I'm stuck playing doctor. What should I do?"

"Oh, I dunno," Race said around a yawn. "Keep him cool, and give him some Ibuprofen, or something. Something that says it reduces fever. I'll be over when it's light outside. I'll come around ten, but right now, I need to sleep..."

"Okay, thanks, Race. I'll see you then.

January 1, New Year's Day

"Hey, Dutchster," Race greeted when Dutchy opened the door.

"Hey, Race. Glad you could make it."

"How's he doing?" Racetrack asked, getting down to business.

"He's asleep upstairs. I gave him a hell of a lot of Ibuprofen, but no reduction yet." Race hurried up the stairs. "My room," Dutchy replied to the questioning gaze. Racetrack grinned.

"Ah, the bedroom. So, what were you two up to before he got the fever?" Race asked, mischievously. Dutchy glowered at him.

"We were watching a movie."

"Aw, too bad. Wake up, Specs! C'mon, Dr. Racetrack is here to inspect!" Race called, cheerily, entering the bedroom. Specs was lying on the bed, on top of the comforter, in his boxers and a tee shirt. Race glanced back at Dutchy and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Where's the thermometer?" Dutchy handed it to him. He stuck it in Specs's mouth and they waited in silence. "101.9," Race announced.

"So, it went up!" Dutchy said, slightly despairingly.

"Yeah. It needs to be at 98.6 and until then, it's going to rise and fall randomly. It'll be a few days before he's normal, and he'll feel like shit till then."

"So, what's the diagnosis, Doc?" Dutchy joked. Race shrugged.

"Give him about four Ibuprofen a day, two in the morning, two at night. Keep him nice and cool. Don't give him any solid food; he might upchuck it. And refrain from snogging his brains out—you might catch it yourself," Race added in a whispered snicker. Dutchy flipped him off.

"Yeah, that'll be hard."

"In the meantime, I think he should stay at your house. I think you'd be best for taking care of him."

"Yeah, sure thing."

January 1, New Year's Day

"So, what's the diagnosis, Doc?" Dodger asked, as Racetrack slid into the booth of Waffle House across from her and Davvy. Race raised an eyebrow at her.

"How often, exactly, do you and Dutchy hang out?" Dodger shrugged.

"Almost all week. Why?"

"He said the same thing to me. Anyway, his fever went up. It'll be doing that for a few days, until it goes down and stays down. We're just going to have to wait and let Mother Nature take her course." Dodger smirked.

"Which course?" Race smiled innocently.

"Why, what ever do you mean?" he said, sweetly. Davvy snorted.

"Race, you're not very good at being innocent," Davvy teased.

"Yeah, but I'm good with pretty much everything else!" Race shot back. Dodger and Racetrack cracked up, but Davvy didn't find it quite as amusing.

"You two are so perverted," he said with his traditional eye roll. Race and Dodger grinned at him.

"What would we do without your innocence?" Dodger sighed.

"Probably make the world's most perverted movie," Davvy said, offhandedly.

"They already did that. A billion times over, actually," Dodger pointed out.

"Besides, without us, you'd have no fun whatsoever," Racetrack added. It was true, though. Davvy was the goodie-two-shoes of their little gang. He kept the others in line, but without them, he'd be socially retarded.

"True. Let's eat," Davvy said as the waitress set a plate of syrupy waffles in front of him.

"I hear that!" Dodger crowed.

"And then we can plot how to hook up Davvy with his secret lover," Race added. Davvy blushed.

"Fat chance."


	2. January 2

OKAY, LISTEN UP!

Slightly: Whoo, boy.

Shut up, you. The 365 day thing was T-R-Us's idea, in case nobody got that. Please forgive me for not putting that disclaimer in the first chapter. Don't eat me.

Shoutouts!

T-R-Us: Grazie. Glad you liked it!

blackblood: Uhm...Yeah, that's what Davick is.

Slightly: DAVDid and jaCK.

Be nice to the reviewers, Slightly.

Unknown-Dreams: Grazie! I'm usually really bad with details; I tend to put my stories in dialogue form.

* * *

January 2

Specs was lying on the bed, covered in sweat. His face was flushed, and he had abandoned his tee shirt entirely. Dutchy stepped out of the laundry room, having just loaded up a washer of clothes, and picked up the thermometer lying on the bedside table.

"Open," he instructed. Groaning, Specs lifted his tongue, obediently, and closed his mouth over the metal tube. Dutchy, meanwhile, was running water over a washcloth. He placed it on Specs's forehead, and Specs gave a sigh of contentment as cool droplets of water trickled down his temples.

He gasped, slightly, as he felt wetness on his chest and stomach, but he relaxed, quickly, as Dutchy cooled off his flushed skin. The thermometer beeped, slightly, and Dutchy plucked it from Specs's mouth, resting the cloth on Specs's bellybutton.

Thankful that Dutchy could not see him blushing, due to his flushed skin, Specs waited, patiently, as Dutchy inspected the thermometer. "102.4," he informed Specs, grimly. Specs groaned.

"I'm going to positively die of boredom, Dutchy," Specs groaned. Dutchy laughed.

"We can watch a movie, or something," he said, grinning, lopsidedly. "Can you move?" Specs thought about it, but his muscles ached. He shook his head, despairingly. Dutchy bit his lip, then slid one arm around Specs's waist, and the other under Specs's knees.

"Dutchy!" Specs yelped. "You can't carry me!" Dutchy snorted.

"Please, Specs. You insult my manliness. You weigh eighty-five pounds!"

"I do not!" Specs said, indignantly. "I weigh eighty-_seven_ pounds."

"Oh, well, _excuse_ me!" Dutchy said, sarcastically. "Eighty-_seven_ pounds!"

"And don't you forget it!" Specs said, sternly. Then he giggled. "Actually, I weigh ninety-two pounds, but nobody believes me," he giggled. Dutchy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, okay. What movie do you want to watch?" Specs shrugged, as Dutchy set him down on the couch.

"Let's watch RENT. I like that one," he said, stretching out on the couch. Dutchy popped it in, and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a sopping wet washcloth. Gently, he lifted Specs's head, and sat down, resting his head in his lap. Dutchy clicked 'play,' and then proceeded to wipe at Specs's forehead as they watched the movie.

For a second time that day, Specs blessed his fevered face.

January 2

"We should probably drop in on Sputchy," Dodger informed her best friends. She was sitting on Race's countertop, munching on slightly stale potato chips. Racetrack and Davvy both gave her a funny look.

"Sputchy?" they said in unison. She shrugged.

"Well, it's Specs and Dutchy, but they're practically together. Best friends, and secret lovers. Either way, they go hand-in-hand. I was just too tired of calling them Specs-and-Dutchy all the time. Sputchy is so much easier!" She paused, thoughtfully. "And more fun to say." Davvy rolled his eyes at his sister's antics.

"You are _so_ weird, Dodger..." he muttered. She grinned, cheekily.

"No, but seriously, we should check in on them." Racetrack nodded in agreement.

"Yeah. I need to drop by anyway. Gotta make sure Dutchy doesn't accidentally kill Specs, or something." They laughed, appreciatively.

"Well, let's at least call, first. Common courtesy, you know," Davvy lectured. Dodger rolled her eyes, but she reached for the phone, anyway.

Ten tries later, she set it aside. "No one's answering," she said, stating the obvious. "Sputchy must be asleep."

"We'll try back later," Race offered. But they didn't reach Specs and Dutchy until three o'clock that afternoon.

January 2

Specs awoke to the phone ringing, ceaselessly. Groaning and uttering obscenities in the phone's general direction, Specs lifted his head from Dutchy's lap and clicked the 'talk' button.

"Hello?" he said, groggily, resting his had against the armrest.

"_Finally!_" came Dodger's exasperated voice. "I've been trying to reach you for _ages!_ How're you feeling?"

"Like crap," Specs replied, sitting up. He looked, guiltily, over at Dutchy, who was asleep sitting up.

"Yeah, you sound like it. Is Dutchy awake?"

"No. Sound asleep," Specs replied, coaxing said sleeper's body into a lying position. Dutchy squirmed and curled up, clutching at Specs's boxers, which would have been very awkward, had he not been asleep.

"Yeah, okay. Race and Davvy are with me—"

"When are they ever not?" Specs interjected with a grin.

"—so we'll probably drop by in an hour or so. Make sure you're decent." Specs laughed and said goodbye to her, then hung up and looked down at Dutchy.

"What am I going to do with you?"

January 2

Dutchy opened his eyes, blearily. Specs was sitting, Indian-style on the floor, his back against the couch in front of Dutchy's head, so that Dutchy could smell his shampoo. Mmm...Apples...

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, and Specs jumped a foot in the air.

"Geeziz..." he gasped. He regained his composure, then answered. "Beats me. I only woke up an hour ago." Dutchy sat up. "Dodger called. She said she and Davvy and Race would probably drop by." He glanced at the clock on the microwave. "They should be here right about now."

On cue, the doorbell rang. Dutchy jumped up, running his fingers through his hair, and pulled open the door. He was immediately tackled into a hug by Dodger, accompanied by a chorused cry of "DUTCHY!"

"Hey, guys," Dutchy said with a grin, prying Dodger off of him.

"Hey. We're just checking up on the nurse and his patient," Racetrack said, grinning.

"You haven't killed Specs, have you?" Dodger asked, seriously. Dutchy looked indignant at the very thought.

"I most certainly have not! He's alive and well and in my living room." They bounded into the living room, where Specs was still sitting on the floor, reading.

"He lives!" Dodger gasped, dramatically. Specs looked up.

"I'm _trying_ to read," he said, irritably. Dodger sat down next to him and neatly snatched the book out of his hands.

"Yes, but your friends are here to give you company in your time of illness, thanks to Dutchy!" she said with an accusing glare.

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault he got a fever!" Dutchy said with his hands held up, though he didn't look sure of himself. Racetrack laughed.

"Of course not, Dutchy. He was bound to get a fever _some_time."

The five friends were soon sitting in a circle on Dutchy's floor, laughing and joking, and enjoying their last day of Christmas break as much as possible. But, sadly, they had to part that evening, after a fine dinner of macaroni and cheese, leaving Specs and Dutchy to enjoy an awkward night.


	3. January 3

Shoutouts!

blackblood: YAY SPUTCHY! Haha Closet-cases are so fun. It makes for such great conflict.

Kid Blink's Dreamer: Well, hats off to your muses! They've got the right idea!

Unknown-Dreams: Whenever I read that-Yes, I'm so pathetic that I read my own stories-Specs always sounds tipsy, but ah well.

* * *

January 3

Specs opened his eyes and groaned, softly. Brilliant sunlight was streaming through the window, and landing directly across his face. He looked to his left and smiled.

Dutchy was fast asleep, curled up on the very edge of the bed, clutching Specs's hand in his. Gently, Specs nudged him, trying to wake him.

He succeeded, but not in the way he had hoped.

Dutchy, at Specs's nudge, rolled off the edge of the bed and landed on the (thankfully) carpeted floor with a _thud!_

"OW!" he yelped, rubbing his head. "What was _that_ for?" Specs leaned over the bed and smiled, guiltily.

"Ah, sorry! I was trying to wake you up!"

"Well, you certainly succeeded," Dutchy grumbled, jokingly. He smiled. "How're you feeling?"

"Much better, actually," Specs admitted.

"You ought to. Your fever broke last night." Specs sat up and grimaced.

"I am in dire need of a shower," he said, feeling his hair. Dutchy looked at his watch.

"It's 11:30. Take a shower. I figured you could skip school today so you can get back on track."

Specs grinned, wryly. "Yeah, that and you get to skip, too!" Dutchy fluttered his eyelashes, innocently.

"Why, what ever do you mean? This is simply for your health and benefit!" he cooed. Specs laughed and climbed out of bed. He grabbed a pair of clean boxers and disappeared into the bathroom.

Specs didn't come out of the shower for an hour. He let the water run over his stiff muscles, washing away the grimy residue of sweat.

When he finally emerged, the bathroom was a sauna, and Specs was clean as a whistle.

"Feel better?" Dutchy asked when Specs stepped into the kitchen.

"Much," he sighed. "So, where're we going today?" Dutchy shrugged.

"I figured we'd go grab some lunch, and go from there." Specs nodded.

"Burger King."

What?" he asked, blinking.

"Burger King. I wanna go to Burger King." Dutchy stared in disbelief.

"But, Specs, you're—"

"Burger King."

"Specs, your parents—"

"Burger King."

"Specs are you sure—"

"I haven't eaten anything unhealthy since June, and camp food hardly counts. I've been sick for three days. Now I want Burger King, damn it!" Dutchy grinned.

"All right, Burger King it is." He led the way to the car. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard you cuss before that," he mused, starting the car.

"I spend all my time with you, Dodger, and Racetrack; it was bound to happen."

January 3

"Ra-ace," Dodger whined, "I'm bo-ored!"

"Well, find a way to entertain yourself," Race said, absentmindedly, not looking up from his doodles. She frowned.

"What's that from?"

"I have no idea," he replied, closing his notebook with a sigh. Dodger made a low growling noise in her throat; the one thing that annoyed her most was not knowing the origin of a movie line.

"So, what are we going to do about Davvy and his secret crush?" she asked, leaning forward, her green eyes twinkling with keen interest. Race shrugged.

"Hook 'em up, I suppose. The only problem is—"

"—who _is_ his crush?" she finished. They sat in a thoughtful silence.

"Well, I suppose we have two options. One—"

"—observation."

"Or two—"

"—nagging him until he talks." She paused. "Well, actually, we have three options: we could get him smashed." Race rolled his eyes.

"But he's so innocent he's never even gotten _tipsy!_" Dodger snickered.

"That's 'cause he has to drive me home!" Race rolled his eyes again.

"Why am I not excruciatingly shocked?"

"Hey, I only drink enough that it'll show up on a cop test. You, on the other hand, get so piss-faced drunk that we have to smuggle you into my house so that you're aunt doesn't lose her marbles, and in the morning we have to spoon-feed you four bottles of aspirin!"

"…That's not the point." She grinned, triumphantly. "Now, I say we start with observation. If Davvy thinks he's being watched, he'll be extra careful. So, we don't want to confront him unless absolutely necessary." Dodger smirked.

"You really get into the whole spy, secret-mission thing, doncha?"

"What can I say? I love James Bond."

January 3

"Hey, Mush," Davvy said, walking over to a tall, muscular boy with curly brown hair and sweet brown eyes. He smiled as Davvy approached him.

"Hey, David."

"Listen, I can't come over today. Do you think we could do it tomorrow?" Mush nodded.

"I have practice after school, but I could probably get out in an hour. We could do it then."

"All right. Cool."

"Who is that?" Dodger hissed, watching as Davvy chatted with a very cute brunette.

"Mush Meyers, drama boy and a regular ladies man," Race narrated.

"Do you think he's The One?" Race rolled his eyes.

"Geez, Dodger, we're looking for his crush, not his soul mate!" Dodger frowned.

"Not _The_ One, just The One!"

"No, he's not. The boy's straight as an arrow. Or he's a closet-case," Race added, thoughtfully. The bell rang.

"All right, let's go before Davvy catches us." Dodger growled. "What's wrong?"

"We have English next." Race nodded, knowingly.

"Ah. Let's go before Davvy gets there."

January 3

"Shit," Kid Blink muttered, as everything in his arms crashed to the floor.

"Sorry," Mush stammered, stooping to gather up Blink's fallen books.

"No problem," Blink replied, squatting next to him. The second bell rang. "Shit, we're late," he graoned.

"I'm really, really sorry," Mush whimpered. Kid Blink was captain and pitcher of the boys' baseball team. Jocks and drama boys _don't mix._

"Hey, calm down!" Kid yelped, because Mush was positively _shaking._ He held out his hand. "I'm Kid Williams, but you can call me Blink."

"Andrew Meyers," he said, quietly, "but I go by Mush." Kid smiled, charmingly, shaking his blonde hair out of his eyes.

"Hi, Mush. Mind walking with me to History?" Mush nodded, and they began their way to Kloppman's class. "So, you're in drama, eh?"

Nod.

"Yeah, I saw you in December. You're pretty good," Kid said, sincerely.

"Thanks," he muttered. He was still tense, Kid could tell.

"Hey, why're you so jumpy?" Mush looked at him like it was painfully obvious.

"Because jocks and drama guys don't mix. It's like, school code, or something. All you jock guys think we're gay, so you beat us up!" Kid smiled, wryly.

"Aren't you all gay?" Mush shrugged.

"Oh, sure, _most_ of us are. But even the ones who aren't get pounded."

"Are _you_ gay?" Mush shook his head.

"Nope. Straight as an arrow, as the saying goes. You might put in a word on that subject, 'cause I've had to make good use of my legs more than once."

Kid Blink said nothing, but he felt his stomach drop, considerably.

Of all the rotten luck…

The one drama boy he had found was the only straight one!

Ah, well. With any luck he'd turn out to be a closet-case. For now, he'd just try and bring the shy boy out of his hole.

'Cause Mush is really cute.

January 3

The front door slammed.

Dutchy froze and stared at the steps. "Mom?" he called, hesitantly.

"Alex? What are you doing home?" Dutchy's mother hurried upstairs to find her son and his best friend on the bed, eating Burger King. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?" Dutchy nodded.

"Yeah, but Specs—"

"Mike," she corrected.

"_Specs_ got a fever. It didn't break until last night. So I gave us today off so he could get some sleep, and to make sure I wasn't contaminated."

"You got _sick?_ Oh, you poor dear!"

And she was off, doting upon Specs as if he still _was_ sick. Dutchy rolled his eyes. His chances of getting out of the house by February were looking very slim.


	4. January 4

Shoutouts!

Unknown-Dreams: My only reviewer for chapter 3! How sad...

Slighlty: It's 'cause this story sucks.

Nuh-UH. ((sobs)) Be nice! Dude, Burger King is awesome!

* * *

January 4

"Hey, Davvy?" Dodger said, casually, setting her lunch down.

"Hmmm?" Davvy relied through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly.

"Do you think he's cute?" she asked, nodding at the table of footballers.

"Do I think who's cute?"

"Cowboy."

Davvy coughed and spluttered, choking on his milk. "_Cowboy?_ As in, Jack Kelly?" She nodded. "Ah, NO!" He looked at her, suspiciously. "Do you?"

"Yeah, he's pretty cute."

"Dude, he's an _asshole!_ And he's dating _Sarah!_" At this, Dodger wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah, you're right. He is an asshole. But he's still cute." Davvy cocked his head to one side and scrutinized Cowboy.

"I guess he's kinda' cute, but he's still a jerk." She shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess so." He finished his sandwich and stood up. Suddenly, he paled, and sat down abruptly.

"Denton's class is next," he said, quietly, not looking up. Dodger growled deep in her throat. She hurried to finish her lunch, and walked her brother to class.

As Davvy entered the classroom, Denton gave him a bright smile and that not-so-innocent look. But the instant he caught sight of Dodger and the death glare she reserved just for him, his smile faltered, and he looked away.

Throughout the class, Dodger alternated between glaring at Denton and watching Davvy to see if he gave anyone The Look.

But Davvy studiously took notes and kept his head bent low, making eye contact with no one, especially not Denton.

Sighing, Dodger gave up for the period and dozed off.

January 4

"Hey, Mush!"

Mush turned, wondering if he actually was hearing what he thought he was hearing.

He was.

Kid Blink was hurrying toward him, a big grin on his face. "Hey! I haven't seen you all day! Are you avoiding me?" he joked. Mush smiled and shook his head.

"Hey, Blink. Sorry, but I was really busy today. What's up?" Kid smiled.

"I'm going to the mall today with some friends. You wanna come?" Mush shook his head.

"Sorry, but I'm working on a science project with David this afternoon," he said, apologetically.

"Oh, all right. That's cool."

"Maybe we could go see a movie this weekend, or something, though." Kid's expression brightened.

"Yeah, sure! Anyway, I'll see you later. I gotta go!"

"All right, see you tomorrow!"

January 4

"Hey," Race greeted, walking over to Dodger's car. She nodded.

"Davvy's at Mush's house for some project. Let's drop in on Sputchy. What say you?"

"AYE!" Race laughed. "We are such movie geeks."

"I hear that!"

January 4

"Alex, get the door!" Mrs. Durecht instructed. Hurriedly, Dutchy went to open the door. He wasn't surprised to see Dodger and Racetrack on his front steps.

"Hey, Dutchy! How's Specs feeling?" Dodger greeted. Dutchy rolled his eyes.

"His fever broke two days ago." Racetrack frowned.

"Why didn't you come to school today?" Again, Dutchy rolled his eyes.

"My mom came home yesterday afternoon, when Specs and I were supposed to be at school." Dodger and Racetrack had identical expressions of a perfect blend of understanding and exasperation.

"Let's get him out of there," Dodger sighed.

"He's upstairs." Dutchy led them to his bedroom, where Specs was lying on the bed and Mrs. Durecht was force-feeding him his fourth bowl of chicken noodle soup.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Durecht," Racetrack said, charmingly. She smiled.

"Hello, Anthony. Come to visit Mike?" He shook his head.

"Actually, we're here to take Dutchy and Specs to the mall." She frowned.

"_Mike_ is sick."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Durecht, Specs is not sick. My sister's a nurse. Since his fever broke two days ago, he's no longer contagious," he said. Dodger, Dutchy, and Specs hid their smiles. Racetrack could charm Mrs. Durecht into letting him do anything. She frowned again.

"Well, I suppose. Just bring them home by dinner time. You two are welcome to stay as well."

"Thanks, Mrs. Durecht. We'll be back around six."

Gratefully, Specs climbed out of bed. Racetrack immediately clapped a hand over his eyes, and Dodger started laughing.

Specs was in his boxers and a tee shirt, revealing his legs, toned from four years of cross-country running.

"I could use a shirt that color," Race whispered, for Dutchy was blushing bright red.

"Ah, shaddup," Specs said, pulling on his jeans. "Let's go."

They drove to the mall, quickly, talking about the past two days at school, and about their plans to hook Davvy up.

"Whereto first?" Dutchy wondered, looking around at the noisy hellhole that is the mall.

"I've got to get some new Vans, 'cause Hugo ate mine," Dodger complained, grimacing at the sneakers she was wearing. By 'Hugo' she was referring to her two-year-old Border Collie, who hadn't done well through training.

"I wanna go to Spencer's," Race piped up. Specs and Dutchy nodded in agreement.

"All right, I'll grab my shoes, and I have to drop in the bookstore, and then I'll meet you guys back in the food court." Specs grabbed his stomach and pulled a face.

"After three bowls of soup, I'm not the least bit hungry." She smiled.

"Yeah, but I have to eat dinner. No offense, Dutchy, but I don't really like mashed potatoes and fried chicken, all that home style cooking and whatnot," Dodger said, apologetically. Dutchy shrugged.

"To each his own."

"Man, what is wrong with these girls?" Race complained, as the third group of giggling preps walked by, ignoring him completely, and instead openly checking out Dutchy's Florida surfer-boy body. "They're all six feet tall!"

"Aw, don't worry, Racey. You'll find a short girl who likes you!" Dutchy teased. As if on cue, a very short redhead walked by, heading for the video game store. Race smiled winningly at her. She looked him over, then nodded, approvingly, and graced him with a smile. "See?"

"HAH!" Race said, jubilantly. "I am _such_ a ladies man."

"Yeah, don't get too cocky," Specs said with a raised eyebrow.

"Did you get your shoes?" Race asked, sitting across from Dodger. She grinned and placed her feet on the flimsy food-court table.

"Check 'em out." They were black with lime green soles, threading, and, of course, the trademark 'Vans.'

"They go perfect with your hair," Race smirked. She fingered her hair. It was black, with two thick strands of lime green framing her face. Specs laughed as he and Dutchy sat down.

"The Chick-Fil-A guy is giving you dirty looks 'cause of your shoes."

"Ah, he can go blow himself," she said, dismissively.

"Hey, sexy," came a new voice. Dodger, Dutchy, and Specs stared, hands over mouths lest they should start laughing and never stop. Race, however, did not move a muscle, his eyes wide.

The boy was not looking at Dodger, as had been assumed. Instead, he was smiling winningly down at Racetrack, one hand on his back. He sat down next to Race. Dodger leaned forward, grinning.

"I'm Dodger," she said. "This is Specs and Dutchy." Race silently prayed she would say he was her boyfriend. "And the 'sexy' guy is Racetrack, my best friend."

No dice.

"I'm Spot," he greeted, tracing his finger down Race's biceps. "Pleased to meet you all." Dodger smirked.

"Charmed, I'm sure. We were just about to head over to the video game store. Care to join us?" He smiled.

"I'd _love_ to," he replied, his hand dropping onto Race's thigh. Race looked like he wanted to say something, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Cool. Let's go."

They stood up and headed for the video game store. Spot kept one arm around Race's waist while Dodger chatted, animatedly with him. "What kind of system do you have?"

"Xbox." She grinned.

"Do you have Halo 2?"

"Of course. What about you?" She shook her head.

"Nah, I've got a PS2. No Halo for me." She grinned, sheepishly. "But that's okay, 'cause I suck." He laughed, and his hand found its way into Race's back pocket, and it stayed there. Race looked on the verge of squirming.

"Hey, Spot!" They turned. Just coming out of the game store was a short redhead, the one who had smiled at Race earlier. She smirked on seeing Spot and Race, who looked very uncomfortable. "All right, I think you've freaked him out enough." Spot sighed and pulled his hand out of Race's pocket, after giving him a friendly squeeze, bringing out a squeak.

"Finally. You and your games," he muttered, shaking his head. She raised her eyebrows.

"_My_ games? I think not. You're the one who likes to hit on poor unsuspecting guys like him. I had nothing to do with it," she said, unconvincingly. Spot snorted.

"Yeah, and I'm Prince William." She frowned.

"What do people see in him, anyway? His brother's _much_ cuter," she said, thoughtfully. "I'm Two-Bits, by the way. I'm friends with Spot."

"Obviously," Spot interjected.

"I'm Dodger, this is Specs, Dutchy, and the victim is Rape—I mean, Race." She grinned, cheekily. Race glared at her.

"I am mentally flicking you off," he growled. Two-Bits laughed.

"My brother says that a lot. Hey, where _is_ Snitch, anyway?" she asked, looking around. Spot shrugged.

"He's with Skitts and Blink. I think they went to Hot Topic." Two-Bits rolled her eyes.

"My brother's going through his 'goth' stage," she said. The boys laughed. "Ah, speak of the devil!"

"I am _not_ going through a goth stage, Bits!" He was tall, with curly brown hair, and slightly bucked teeth, which he pulled off in a cute way. Sure enough, he wore a black tee shirt, and baggy black jeans with buckles on them. Faint traces of eyeliner could be seen around his eyes.

"Suuurrreee…Anyway, Snitch, Billy, this is Dodger, Dutchy, Specs, and Racetrack. Guys, this is my brother, Snitch, and my best friend, Billy the Kid, or Blink."

"All right, let's go browse. I can't stand around or I'll start laughing at Race," Specs said, impatiently. Race turned bright red and Spot laughed.

"Don't worry, sexy," he joked. "I'm not interested. Two-Bits just likes watching me hit on 'unsuspecting victims,' as she put it."

"Unsuspecting victims…" Race muttered, as they walked off. "Makes you sound like a rapist, or something…"


	5. January 5

Shoutouts!

Unknown-Dreams: Ah, Sprace is hot. But, sadly, we won't be seeing much of that, I don't think.

blackblood: I had a feeling people would like that...

* * *

January 5

"Ah…It feels so good to be going back to school," Specs sighed from the passenger seat of Dutchy's car. Dutchy looked over at him and shook his head, amazed.

"How can you be happy that you're going back to _school?_" Dutchy demanded, bewildered at his friend's love for academics. Specs grinned.

"Because I spent a week with you," he replied, jokingly. Apparently, Dutchy didn't get the joke, because he went quiet, and didn't say anything. Concerned, Specs sat up, looking over at his Dutchy. _His Dutchy?_ Specs thought to himself.

"Hey, I was just kidding, Dutchy," Specs said, reaching over to place his hand on top of Dutchy's, which rested on the steering wheel. Dutchy looked down at Specs's hand, on top of his own, and his eyes widened. Specs gave a reassuring squeeze. "I was just kidding."

Dutchy looked over at Specs, and smiled.

January 5

"DODGER!"

Dodger jumped a foot in the air, and spun around, searching for the source of the shout. She spied Two-Bits, the girl from yesterday, with whom she had become fast friends, racing toward her, a huge grin on her face.

"What?" Dodger asked, relaxing, and pulling a few books out of her locker. Two-Bits skidded to a halt, giving her another brilliant smile.

"Guess what!" Dodger rolled her eyes. She didn't like mornings, especially not ones spent at school.

"What?" she asked, eyeing the other girl, who was bouncing up and down, practically.

"You know Starstruck? That local theatre?" Dodger nodded, wondering what on earth had gotten Two-Bits so hyped up. "They're doing _Oliver!_ for their musical!" she squealed, spinning around and almost falling over. Dodger stared at her.

"Are you _serious!_" she exclaimed, her voice going equally high. Racetrack, who had been walking past, turned to stare, pointedly, at her. She rolled her eyes. "Hey, I'm allowed to get excited about things, aren't I?"

"Tryouts are tomorrow, 10-2!" Two-Bits continued, ignoring Racetrack's 'Oh-my-gosh-I'm-friends-with-idiots' look. "We should go!"

"That would be awesome!" Dodger replied, grinning. "Do you know of anyone who's trying out, too?" Two-Bits nodded.

"Mush and Blink. You remember Blink, right?" Two-Bits said, walking with Dodger to their history class. Dodger nodded.

"Pirate boy, isn't he? I remember. I am mentally treasuring everything that happened yesterday, down to the last detail," she said, grinning. Two-Bits laughed.

"That was frickin' HILARIOUS!" she exclaimed. "Ohmigosh, that was so funny." She grinned at Racetrack, who was already sitting in the back, and seemed to have a pretty good idea of what they were talking about, because he was giving the two girls his 'death glare.'

"So, tryouts. Can you guys pick me up?" Dodger asked, continuing their momentarily delayed conversation. Two-Bits nodded.

"Yeah, we'll pick you up, and then afterwards we can grab lunch."

"Sounds good."

January 5

"Hey, sexy."

Racetrack jumped a foot in the air, and spun around. Spot was standing there, laughing his head off. "Hey, I was just kidding!" he teased. Racetrack blushed, brilliantly, only causing Spot to laugh even more.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack, yesterday!" Race accused, feeling that his pride had been injured quite a bit.

"Hey, just chill. I'm not interested in you, promise," Spot chuckled. "I've got my eye on someone else," he added. Racetrack eyed him suspiciously. Then, unable to back down from the prospect of gossip, he asked, "Who?"

Spot grinned, tauntingly. "Why should I tell you?" he teased. Racetrack pouted, and Spot laughed out loud. "That was extremely gay!"

"Shut up! It was not! Now come on, tell me!" Spot grinned, innocently, and didn't answer.

A familiar figure walked by, and Race watched Spot's eyes follow him down the hallway. He grinned, triumphantly.

"It's him, isn't it?"


	6. January 6

Shoutouts!

T-R-Us: Grazie! Sorry you had an operation. No offense taken.

Unknown-Dreams: SORRY! Maybe we'll have some experimental thingy or something, but as far as things go, I don't think I'm going to Sprace it.

* * *

January 6

"How long?" Racetrack demanded. Since the day before, he and Spot had clicked, partially because Race had an incredible thirst for gossip and matchmaking. Spot looked over at him from the driver's seat of his ancient Volvo station wagon.

"Since last year," he finally replied. "Two-Bits and I were friends since the eighth grade, so I started hanging out with her group. Well, one thing leads to another, and here I am with a huge crush." Racetrack rolled his eyes.

"We really need to work on that. If you're gonna tell him, you're going to have to think of a more romantic version of that. Come on, work up some sap!" Race said, teasingly. Spot stopped in front of Two-Bits's house, then looked sternly at Race.

"I am _not_ telling him," he said, firmly. "And neither are you," he added. Racetrack did his pout again, and Spot laughed. "That's still incredibly gay!"

"Hey, my best guy friends are gay. What do you expect?" Race said, shrugging. "Come on, can't we tell him?" he whined, just as Snitch opened the door to the car.

"Tell who what?" Snitch asked, climbing into the back seat. Two-Bits walked around the car and leaned in through the window on Spot's side.

"Hey, thanks for baby-sitting Snitchy. I'll come and get him around one," Two-Bits teased. Snitch flipped her off.

"No problem, Bits," Spot laughed. "Just don't take _too_ long. I don't know how much I can stand." Two-Bits laughed and pushed away from the car and jumped in her own, where Dodger sat in the passenger seat. She whipped out of the driveway, and Spot pulled away from the curb, going in the opposite direction of the white punch-buggy.

"Tell who what?" Snitch repeated, impatiently. Spot gave Race a look, but Race wasn't looking at him, which Spot had a feeling was intentional.

"Oh, Spotty's just got a little crush," Race said, offhandedly. Snitch grinned.

"Who is it?" he asked, and Spot's grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"He's not telling," Race said, smoothly, and Spot silently blessed him. "I just happened to have caught him gawking, red-handed." Snitch laughed, but said nothing.

"So, where's your sister headed for?"

January 6

"Well done, well done," Miss Larkson said, encouragingly. The girl, Alice something-or-other, stepped off the stage.

Mush, Dodger, and Two-Bits were at Starstruck, auditioning for _Oliver!_ Miss Larkson, a retired Vaudeville performer, was the director. She was tall and thin, with orange curls, and she seemed not to realize that orange and pink clashed. But she seemed likeable enough. That is, if _she_ liked _you._

"Let's see…Tory Wilkins?" Two-Bits whistled, softly, then stood up, stepping carefully onto the stage. Dodger leaned forward and whispered in Miss Larkson's ear. "I believe you have a routine?"

"Yes, ma'am," she said, glaring at Dodger.

"Allen, give this girl a headset," Miss Larkson ordered. Two-Bits accepted a headset from Allen, and put it on. She waited for the tape to begin, then started to sing…and _dance_.

_There's a little ditty they're singing in the city, especially when they've been on the gin, or the beer. If you've got the patience, your own imaginations will tell you exactly what you want to hear…_

_Oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah. That's how it goes! Oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah, everyone knows!_

_They all suppose what they want to suppose when they hear oom-pah-pah! Mister Percy Snodgrass would often have the odd glass. But never when he thought anybody could see. Secretly he'd buy it, and keep it on the quiet, and dream he was an Earl with a girl on each knee!_

_Oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah! That's how it goes! Oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah! Everyone knows!_

_What his the cause of his red shiny nose? Could it be oom-pah-pah? Pretty little Sally goes walking down the alley, displays her pretty ankles for all the men to see. They could see her garters, but not for free-and-gratis—an inch or two and she knows to say when!_

_Oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah! That's how it goes! Oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah! Everyone knows!_

_Whether it's hidden, or whether it shows, it's the same oom-pah-pah! She was from the country, but now she's up a gum tree! She let a fellow feed her, then lead her along. What's the good of crying? She's made a bed to lie in. She's glad to bring the coin in and join in this song._

_She's no longer the same blushing rose ever since oom-pah-pah!_

_There's a little ditty they're singing in the city, especially when they've been on the gin, or the beer. If you've got the patience, your own imagination will tell you exactly what you want to hear…_

_Oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah! That's how it goes! Oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah! Everyone knows!_

_They all suppose what they want to suppose, when they hear oom-pah-pah!_

January 6

"Hey, Specs?" Specs looked up from his book. Dutchy was standing in the doorway, fidgeting.

"Got spiders in your pants?" Specs teased. Dutchy blushed and began to examine his sneakers. Specs sighed, smiling fondly at his best friend. "What is it?" Dutchy looked up, then looked back at the floor.

"Do you wanna go…" he began, hesitantly. He stopped talking, and Specs sat up on the bed.

"Do I want to…?" he prodded. Dutchy glanced up and looked away again, blushing. Specs rolled his eyes, then stood up and pulled open a drawer of the dresser. Selecting a tee shirt, he pulled it over his head.

"Do you want to…goseamovi…" Dutchy said, quickly. Specs snorted.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he teased. "My ears aren't tuned to that speed." Dutchy blushed again.

"Do you want to go see a movie?" he said, slowly. It seemed he had moved up in the world; he was now staring at a piece of lint on the floor a few feet in front of him.

Specs frowned, pondering this. He had seen a movie with Dutchy every other Saturday for three years. Why was he so nervous? Unless…

"You mean like a _date?_" Specs said, standing up, quickly. Dutchy went red.

"No, just, um, you know, my mom is going out with her girl friends, so I just thought we could…" he stammered, trailing off. Specs smiled and took a couple steps forward, tilting Dutchy's chin up.

"You mean like a date," he said. Dutchy nodded, faintly. Specs grinned, rolling his eyes.

"What movie?" he asked. Dutchy grinned.

"I have no idea."

January 6

Dodger stood on the stage, no longer looking smug. Two-Bits smirked at her and motioned for her to start, mouthing, "Go on!" Grimacing, Dodger began to sing.

_Consider yourself at home! Consider yourself one of the family. We've taken to you so strong, it's clear we're going to get along. Consider yourself well in. Consider yourself part of the furniture. There isn't much to share. Who cares? What ever we've got we share!_

_If it should chance to be we should see some harder days, empty larder days, why grouse? All ways a chance we'll meet somebody to foot the bill then the drinks are on the house! Consider yourself our mate. We don't want to have no fuss, for after some consideration, we can state…Consider yourself one of us!_

_Consider yourself at home! Consider yourself one of the family! We've taken to you so strong. It's clear we're going to get along!_

_Consider yourself well in. Consider yourself part of the furniture. There isn't a lot to spare. Who cares? Whatever we've got we share!_

_Consider yourself our mate. We don't want to have no fuss. Consider yourself one of us!_

January 6

"So, where are we headed?" Snitch asked as they were walking out of the Chick-Fil-A where they had had lunch.

"Let's hit the mall," Spot said with a grin, glancing over at Race, who choked on his Pepsi. Snitch and Spot began to laugh. "HEY!" Spot shrieked, as Racetrack slid a few ice cubes down his back. The ice got lodged between hit back and his Under-armor shirt, and Spot began to…

"Dance, Spot!" Racetrack cheered in his wannabe-ghetto voice. Snitch was laughing so hard that tears were running down his cheeks. The ice was in the exact place that Spot couldn't reach.

"Get it out!" Spot squealed. Still laughing, Snitch grabbed the back of Spot's shirt and pulled him backwards, toward Snitch. Race watched, smugly, as Snitch stuck his hands under Spot's shirt, retrieving the ice cube. Fortunately for Spot, Snitch couldn't see him blushing.

"That was not cool, Race," Spot said, as Snitch tossed the ice cube onto the pavement. Race grinned, cockily.

"Actually, it was quite cool. It's ice, Spot!" Spot shoved him, and he stumbled over the curb.

"Aw, lighten up, Spotty," Snitch said, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "It was hilarious!" Spot growled, but he said nothing. "Come on, let's go."

January 6

"All right, you next. Your name is?" Mush quietly muttered, "Andrew Meyers."

Mush hesitantly stepped onto the stage. He glanced around and blushed, brilliantly, when he saw Kid Blink step into the auditorium. Blink smiled, encouragingly, and sat down next to Two-Bits.

Mush stood there for a second, wondering why on _earth_ he had blushed. Miss Larkson brought him out of his reverie with an impatient cough. "Please begin, Andrew."

Sighing, Mush stepped up to the microphone, and a tape (which sang the boys' part) began to play. Squeezing his eyes shut, he began to sing.

_In this life, one thing counts. In the bank, large amounts. I'm afraid these things don't grow on trees, you've got to pick a pocket or two. You've got to pick a pocket or two, boys, you've got to pick a pocket or two._

_Large amounts don't grow on trees. You've got to pick a pocket or two!_

_Why should we break our backs stupidly paying tax? Better get some untaxed income. Better pick a pocket or two. You've got to pick a pocket or two, boys. You've got to pick a pocket or two._

_Why should we all break our backs? Better pick a pocket or two._

_Robin Hood, what a crook! Gave away what he took! Charity's fine, subscribe to mine. Get out and pick a pocket or two. You've got to pick a pocket or two, boys. You've got to pick a pocket or two._

_Robin Hood was far too good. He had to pick a pocket or two._

_Take a tip from Bill Sikes. He can whip what he likes. I recall he started small. He had to pick a pocket or two. You've got to pick a pocket or two, boys. You've got to pick a pocket or two._

_We can be like old Bill Sikes if we pick a pocket or two._

_Dear old gent passes by. Something nice takes his eye. Everything's clear, attack the rear. Get in and pick a pocket or two. You've got to pick a pocket or two, boys. You've got to pick a pocket or two._

_Have no fear. Attack the rear. Get in and pick a pocket or two._

_When I see someone rich, both my thumbs start to itch. Only to find some peace of mind we have to pick a pocket or two. You've got to pick a pocket or two, boys. You've got to pick a pocket or two._

_Just to find some peace of mind…_

_We've got to pick a pocket or two!_

"You were brilliant, Mushy!" Kid Blink exclaimed, thumping Mush on the back. Mush grinned, his adrenaline running, as it always did when he performed.

"Thanks Blink," he said. Their eyes met, and Mush blushed.

Perhaps it was possible…


	7. January 7

January 7

_Ring…Ring…Rin—_

"Hello?" Mush mumbled, snatching up the phone. He glanced at his clock. It read 11:30.

"Hiya, Mushy. Did I wake you?" Kid Blink asked, worriedly. Mush shook his head, sleepily, and then remembered that he was on the phone.

"Yeah, I slept in," he said around a yawn.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I figured you'd be up by now!" Blink exclaimed. Mush chuckled into the phone.

"Chill, Blink. I should have been up by now anyway," he said sitting up. He pinned the phone between his ear and his shoulder and began to get dressed, pulling a tee shirt with a million holes, and a pair of jeans out of his drawers.

"I figured you were an early bird. Why'd you sleep so late?" Blink asked, calming a bit.

"I was up last night fretting about the audition. I think that Asian guy got the part," Mush sighed, sullenly. Kid Blink snorted.

"Mushy, he didn't even try out for Fagin! You dork, you'll get the part. Trust me, no one was better than you!" Kid Blink assured him. Mush rolled his eyes but was pleased at the praise.

"Thanks, Blink. So, what's up?"

"Well, I was thinking you might wanna take me up on that rain check? We could go to…uh…some…place…" Mush snorted.

"Wow, you really think these things through, doncha?" Mush snickered. "Any place in particular?" There was a pause.

"Well…I was thinking we could go see a movie together. There's this one that Two-Bits and Snitch are going to, and it looks interesting," Kid Blink said. Mush laughed.

"Sure thing. Matinee?"

"Yeah. We can go to lunch, and then see it," Kid Blink replied, eagerly. "What time should I pick you up?" Mush crawled out of bed.

"Eh…Soon. I'll grab a shower and then call you, okay?" Mush replied, stepping into the bathroom.

"All right. See you."

January 7

"Morning, Dutchy!" Specs exclaimed, pouncing on Dutchy's bed. Dutchy groaned and buried his head in the pillow; he'd stayed up late last night, thinking about their semi-date.

Actually, Dutchy wasn't completely sure what movie they'd seen, even. He hadn't been paying attention at all. Specs had put up the armrest and curled into Dutchy's side, immediately causing him to blush. But, of course, it was dark in the movie theatre, so hopefully Specs didn't notice.

He'd actually liked Specs for a long time. Since November, perhaps, but who was counting? He'd talked with Dodger a lot about it. It certainly wasn't a question of whether Specs was gay; he'd come out as bisexual in their freshman year. But it was a question of whether he returned the feelings.

But Dodger had dropped hints to Specs, and she said that Specs was responding the way he ought to; that he had never thought of liking Dutchy, but that if he were to consider it, he would.

Of course, what do girls know anyway?

…Well, a lot, considering Dutchy had spent the night before with his arms around Specs' waist.

Dutchy sighed happily and climbed out of bed.

January 7

"So, where're we going?" Spot asked, climbing into the passenger seat of Racetrack's '69 Mustang convertible. Racetrack grinned at him.

"Movies. We're going to see **_Un long dimanche de fiançailles._" Spot raised his eyebrow at Race. **

**"Uh…Translation, Frenchie?" **

**"A Very Long Engagement." Spot's eyebrows rose higher, but Racetrack offered no explanation.**

**"Riiiggghhhtt…"**

**Ten minutes later, they were in the movie theatre, armed with a large popcorn and two giant slurpies. Racetrack led the way to the back of the rather empty theatre and sat next to…**

**"Two-Bits? Wow! Fancy meeting you here! Snitch! Blink! Mush! Wow! What are the odds?" Racetrack said, cheerily.**

**"Zero," Spot muttered. Racetrack sat down next to Two-Bits, which meant Spot had to sit next to Snitch, on the end. Blink and Mush were in the middle, looking suspicious. Spot eyed them as he sat down, then leaned over to whisper to Snitch, "What's up with them?"**

**"I'm not sure," Snitch hissed back. He noticed the giant slurpie. "Can I have some of that?" Spot chuckled.**

**"Yeah. It's good shit." He was very satisfied as he indirectly swapped spit with Snitch for the next couple of hours. Oh, and the movie was good, too.**

**January 7**

**"So, did you have fun, Snitchy?" Two-Bits asked, climbing into the driver's seat of her car. Snitch pulled his seatbelt across his lap and nodded.**

**"Uh-huh. It was a good movie. But where were Dutchy and Specs?" he asked as the old 1938 Plymouth pulled out of the parking lot.**

**"Dodger says they saw a movie last night; she wanted to let the fact that they went on their first date sink in," she explained, grinning. She always grinned when she was driving, because she adored her car.**

**"They're going out?" Snitch asked, surprised. She nodded.**

**"I thought they were going out when we first met them at the mall, but Dodger says they've been like that since ninth grade." Suddenly, Two-Bits' cell phone began ringing to the Star Wars theme. Chuckling, she snatched it up and answered.**

**"Hello?"**

**"Hey, Bits. It's Racetrack."**

**"Oh, hey. What's up?"**

**"I need your help with something."**

**"All riiigghhtt…"**

**"It's about Spot."**


	8. January 8

Shoutouts! Er...Shout_out_.

Slightly: Yeah. 'Cause everyone hates you.

Shut. Up.

Unknown-Dreams: Yeah...you're kind of babbling. But you caught on to my point about the slurpie thingy. Good job!

* * *

January 8

David knocked on his sister's door, loudly. When he received no reply, he twisted the knob and walked in. Not to his surprise, Dodger was curled up in a ball at the foot of her blankets, her alarm clock blasting out Papa Roach's Getting Away With Murder. David made a face at his sister's taste in music and turned it off.

"Dodger, wake up!" David said, yanking the covers off of her. She didn't stir. Rolling his eyes, David said loudly, "Dodger, I have to tell you something: I'm in love."

Dodger almost flew off her bed in her excitement. Her hair a mess and her pillow clutched in her hand, she waited eagerly for David to speak. Instead of confessing his love for someone, David burst out laughing.

"What?" Dodger demanded. David clutched at his stomach as his eyes filled with tears of laughter. Dodger put her hands on her hips and glared at her brother.

"You—totally—fell for it!" he gasped. Dodger's eyes widened in realization, and she leaned forward and smacked her brother upside the head.

"Davvy, you LOSER!" she exclaimed. David's laughter slowly came to a halt.

"We're late for school," he said, simply.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Dodger turned to her brother, handing him some toast with butter and brown sugar. "How'd you know that would wake me up?" David snorted.

"_Please_. You think I'm not smart enough to figure out that you and Racetrack have been stalking me?" he said dismissively. "And when you asked me if I thought Cowboy was hot, it clicked." Dodger pouted.

"And I thought we were being sneaky," she mumbled. David chuckled.

"I _know_ you did."

January 8

"A paper already?" Two-Bits complained as she and Spot walked out of their History class. "Blasted teachers," she muttered darkly in a British accent. Spot rolled his eyes.

"_Why_ do you always do that?" he asked. Two-Bits gave him a look.

"You got a problem with it, laddie?" she asked, switching to an Irish accent. Spot glared and didn't answer. "I'll see you at lunch." She disappeared down the hall for her Italian class.

"Hey, Race," she said, sliding into the seat next to Racetrack. The teacher, "Professor Parati" as he insisted on being called, called for silence. Racetrack pulled out a sheet of notebook paper and began writing. When he was done, he folded it up and passed it to her.

R: Hey. We need to talk about Snitch and Spot.

T: Indeed we do.

R: So, Spot likes your brother. You know if he likes anyone?

T: No idea. He and I haven't had that discussion in a while.

R: Well, try and find out. Because Spot's been head over heels for your brother for a year.

T: -rolls eyes- _Guys._ They never just up and tell you that they like you.

R: I resent that!

T: Tough cookies.

"_Miss Wilkins!_" Two-Bits jumped as Professor Parati snatched the note out of her hand. "Note passing is unacceptable!" he snapped. Two-Bits had the decency to look ashamed.

Professor Parati stalked to the front of the room and, to Two-Bits' and Racetrack's horror, unfolded the note and began to read it aloud.

January 8

Whistles and catcalls followed Snitch wherever he went, and he had no idea why. It seemed that everyone knew something he didn't, because he couldn't even go to the _bathroom_ without someone making a comment.

"Go Snitch!"

"Playa'…"

Etc. etc. etc.

Someone slammed into him, and Snitch almost toppled over. He looked up and saw that it was Spot, who looked livid. "Oh, hey Spot," he greeted. Spot blinked. It took a moment for him to register who he was talking to. His eyes narrowed as the whistles erupted into howls, and he shoved Snitch aside.

"Out of my way, fag," he snapped.

Shocked and dazed, Snitch stumbled into his next class.

January 8

"CONLON!"

Spot turned on his heels in the school parking lot. Two-Bits was storming toward him, looking furious. Spot scowled at her and continued walking. "Don't you walk away from me!"

Two-Bits grabbed Spot's shoulder and roughly turned him around. Spot opened his mouth to say something but Two-Bits smacked him across the cheek with all the force she could muster, leaving a red mark.

"What the FUCK did you do to my BROTHER!" she demanded. Spot frowned.

"The whole fucking school knows I like Snitch, and I think I know who to blame!" he replied, snappishly. Two-Bits looked surprised for an instant. Then she smacked him again.

"You fucker! That's not Snitch's fault! That was MY fault!" she shrieked. Spot didn't redeem himself.

"Well now the whole school knows! My reputation is fucked, thanks to you!" he exclaimed. Two-Bits growled.

"Your reputation was shit, anyway, Conlon! So go fuck yourself!" she snapped. "You're not even good enough for Snitch!"


End file.
